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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28129005">and you bring me love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kornevable/pseuds/kornevable'>kornevable</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, M/M, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 12:21:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,172</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28129005</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kornevable/pseuds/kornevable</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“The night is beautiful and it’s getting stuffy in there, we should take a walk,” Sylvain mumbles against his hair.</p>
  <p>“It’s freezing,” Felix deadpans. “I wasn’t planning on staying too long here.”</p>
  <p>“Aw come on, nobody is in the gardens! Everyone is busy drinking and trying to talk to Dimitri. Consider this the romantic excursion we haven’t done in ages because we’re apparently both workaholics.”</p>
</blockquote>In the middle of a banquet night, Sylvain and Felix sneak away for a stroll in the gardens of Fhirdiad Castle. Sylvain discovers that flower language helps greatly in laying bare feelings.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Sylvix Advent Calendar</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>and you bring me love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I am so excited to share with you my work with the wonderful <a href="https://twitter.com/nyarrancia">Nyan</a>, who really spoiled me with her art!!</p><p>Many thanks to <a href="https://twitter.com/kayisdreaming">Kay</a> for beta-reading! You can check out all the awesome Sylvix Advent Calendar works <a href="https://twitter.com/SylvixCalendar">here</a>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sylvain likes banquets. He likes seeing people smile, enjoying the savory food and catching up with old friends. What he doesn’t like is being scrutinized by every pair of eyes, like he’s some piece of meat on display. Years of peace have only exacerbated noblemen’s needs to grab more power by slithering into the most influential houses’ good graces. Sylvain smells these kinds of people from miles away—he does his best to plaster on his practiced smile and to smooth over his voice to quell his desire to snap some unpleasant remarks.</p><p>It gets too much to handle after hours of entertaining guests though, and extremely boring to pretend he’s listening to the progress made on trade routes connecting cities and remote villages. Dimitri isn’t going to get mad at him for slipping away for an hour or two—it’s not like he will notice anyway, busy as he is speaking to all these officials.</p><p>Sylvain notices the conspicuous absence of a scowling advisor clad in teal robes at his side or at Dimitri’s. He surveys the banquet room, checking the tables for plates of meat that are attracting any hungry swordsmen (he sees Ingrid talking animatedly to another knight, though), on the lookout for the trail of a fur-trimmed coat in the crowd. It seems Sylvain isn’t the only one who reached his limit for social gatherings.</p><p>He excuses himself, some apologies tumbling out of his mouth to people who wish to keep the conversation going, and he makes empty promises to come back after he’s attended to an urgent matter. He strides towards the balcony, his boots hitting the floor in loud steps and the crowd naturally parts to let him through—it’s a bit amusing that he’d inspire such a presence when he’s spent all his life forcing everyone to peel their eyes off him by acting like a fool. Inheriting a title and a territory changes people’s perception of a man, unfortunately.</p><p>The pristine, double glazed doors leading to the balcony are closed to keep the wind from freezing everyone over. Sylvain pushes them open, quickly sliding through before closing them again, and smiling at all the people here whispering to each other under the clear and starry sky. They are mostly couples, seeking reprieve from the festivities and trying to sneak away for some privacy, which of course cannot be managed in such a grand gathering. Well, they tried.</p>
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</div><p>Felix has his back turned to Sylvain, leaning on the stone railing with both arms. Nobody is flanking him on either side, which means he probably scared people away or his scowl was enough to show he wanted to be left alone with his tranquility and the cold breeze. His ponytail and the red ribbon tying it sway with the wind. Sylvain’s smile grows wider and he approaches him in measured steps. Felix stands a bit straighter, turning his face ever so slightly to the side to see who is coming, like he’s expecting an aggressor taking him by surprise. There is no way Sylvain will ever be skillful enough to sneak up on Felix.</p><p>“Finally got tired of sucking up to these nobles?” Felix asks with a teasing smile.</p><p>“They were the ones who were sucking up to me,” Sylvain retorts, sliding close to Felix.</p><p>Sylvain’s hand travels to Felix’s waist and rests there as he plants a kiss on his husband’s forehead, soft but not lacking in affection as the smack of his lips echoes loudly. Felix snorts and shakes his head, but he leans against Sylvain’s side and looks up at him.</p><p>“You didn’t seem to mind that much.”</p><p>Sylvain shrugs, his gaze trained on the gardens below them. “You know how it is, they come seeking my wisdom and wishing I could bestow upon them my infinite knowledge about the best seeds to plant in this season or what tiny path the trade route should pass through.”</p><p>“That’s not even your job.”</p><p>“My point exactly.”</p><p>It’s more of Felix’s job than it is Sylvain’s, in all honesty. Felix advises Dimitri in all kinds of matters, lending him his ear and his voice at all hours of the day, while Sylvain sits in the back and pretends that his opinion on anything that’s not related to the Northern border or Crests isn’t important. The crowd he attracts at social gatherings tells him otherwise, though.</p><p>“They know you’re not as ignorant as you pretend to be,” Felix says. “Dimitri keeps you around during meetings, after all.”</p><p>“I feel I should feel insulted by the way you phrased that.”</p><p>Felix chuckles and pats his back in a gesture that’s much gentler than the strikes of the blade he used to do in the war. Felix’s hands haven’t softened over the years—they remain swift, calloused with training, and quick to draw his sword. He’s still as sharp as ever, but in moments like these, when he leaves himself unguarded, his touch becomes the most comforting reassurance.</p><p>They have been married for years. And yet, the novelty of seeing Felix under such a carefree and relaxed light never wears off—the features of his face aren’t twisted with the neverending worry for their future or plagued with the early doubts about his inherited role. The grin on Sylvain’s face stretches even wider and he wraps both his arms around Felix like he would to an oversized stuffed animal, nuzzling his hair.</p><p>“The night is beautiful and it’s getting stuffy in there, we should take a walk,” Sylvain mumbles against his hair.</p><p>“It’s freezing,” Felix deadpans. “I wasn’t planning on staying too long here.”</p><p>“Aw come on, nobody is in the gardens! Everyone is busy drinking and trying to talk to Dimitri. Consider this the romantic excursion we haven’t done in ages because we’re apparently both workaholics.”</p><p>The look on Felix’s face is contemplative, and Sylvain can see the gears turning in his head —weighing the benefits of sneaking away and the trouble they’d cause if someone needed them in the banquet room. Sylvain wants to kiss that stupid frown away.</p><p>“...Alright, I guess it won’t be too bad,” Felix concedes. “Ingrid and Ashe are inside; they can take care of everything.”</p><p>Sylvain laughs and tugs him towards the stairs leading them downstairs. “They’re more than capable of surviving without you for an hour, stop worrying.”</p><p>“I’m not <i>worried</i>.”</p><p>“That’s a lie and you know it.”</p><p>Felix huffs, turning his eyes away as he lets Sylvain guide him, but he doesn’t further deny it. Sylvain is still wrapped around Felix, making their steps impossibly harder to coordinate, and when they almost stumble for the third time in as many steps, Felix starts squirming. Sylvain only keeps laughing.</p><p>“Don’t you think you should get off me,” Felix mutters.</p><p>“But it’s cold!”</p><p>“It’s colder in Gautier!”</p><p>“My <i>heart</i> is cold, Felix, don’t be so dismissive of my heart’s needs!”</p><p>“Always so dramatic…”</p><p>Sylvain releases Felix, switching to holding his hand and allowing himself to be a little more clingy than usual by sticking really close to Felix. He loves feeling his husband’s presence at his side, basking in that familiar warmth that never fails to fill him with immeasurable joy, as ridiculous and cheesy as it sounds. Felix wouldn’t be described as someone inspiring a feeling of coziness or serenity; he’s all barbed and full of sharp words directed at anyone who makes the mistake of saying something inane or out of line. Sylvain likes this constant—nothing has ever felt more comforting than the assurance that Felix is still the same man who thinks too much with his heart, ending up putting his foot in his mouth. He’s the man he loves and married.</p><p>“What’s that smile for?” Felix’s face is open with curiosity, eyebrow raised.</p><p>Sylvain swings their hands gently, moving along with the wind biting at their cheeks.</p><p>“Nothing, I’m just happy to be here and hold your hand.”</p><p>“... You’re a sap.”</p><p>“When am I not?”</p><p>The gardens are tended to with care and patience, resplendent and gleaming with beautiful colors to abate the coldness of winter. Dimitri doesn’t have a wealth of knowledge about flowers and gardening, so he leaves the task to the people who have cared for this vast green space for years, even decades; all year round, the buds blossom and the guests marvel at the beauty of the assortment of pink, white, yellow and red. They look even more dazzling in winter, when the white of the snow enhances all the other colors. Some people would say that love oozes from the meticulous ministration ensuring that the flowers are bright and alive, bordering cobblestone stroll paths and heightening the experience of teatime outside.</p><p>Sylvain pulls Felix with him in no particular direction. Everyone is busy dancing and eating inside; in the warmth of the celebrations, few people would be foolish enough to wander in the gardens so late at night, lest they be mistaken for an assassin. It’s quiet, but pleasant and peaceful, a clean break from the buzzing of the party.</p><p>“Do you remember when we used to sneak out of social gatherings as kids?” Sylvain asks, mischief in his voice. “Like we are doing right now.”</p><p>Felix snorts. “We wanted to run around in the gardens with wooden weapons, pretending to be knights. We never managed to stay outside for long.”</p><p>“Our families always brought us back even if we were kicking and screaming!”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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</div><p>Felix gives him a flat look, not pointing out the obvious half-truth, and Sylvain grins. Felix was the one who made a fuss whenever they had to cut their playing time short, while Sylvain and Ingrid stood on the side looking sheepish, especially when Dimitri had decided to join in their games and had to be on the receiving end of many disappointed gazes. It was never easy to compromise with a pouting and crying Felix.</p><p>“We’re not kids anymore,” Felix says in the end.</p><p>“Definitely not kids.”</p><p>Sylvain squeezes Felix’s hand, pleased when Felix squeezes back. Felix is distracted by some of the colorful arrangement of snapdragons sprouting from the ground among varieties of pansies, giving Sylvain full access to his cheek to be kissed. He resists the urge to do it though, not wanting to push his luck when Felix has been receptive of his affection so far.</p><p>“If we were kids, we would be bored in writing lessons instead of trade meetings,” Sylvain jokes. “And yawning wouldn’t have been seen as a sign of disrespect for equally boring nobles.”</p><p>“Yawning during lessons never ended well either.”</p><p>“Well, at least I didn’t have to justify myself with flimsy excuses. I suppose as Duke your number of yawns is limited.”</p><p>Felix looks pensive for a moment, unusually serious for such a mundane comment, then his face breaks into a smirk that reminds Sylvain of one of the many reasons he loves him.</p><p>“I don’t yawn to show my boredom, if I’m not glaring at them they can tell I’ve lost interest in their nonsensical babbling. If I glare at least they know they’re saying stupid shit.”</p><p>Sylvain tips his head back and bursts out laughing. “As expected of Duke Fraldarius!”</p><p>“Work isn’t going to get done by itself, so if I’m not showing some impatience they will keep talking in circles until we agree to whatever they’re proposing. It would be faster if a new generation of people who actually know what’s going on in the country replaced these old fools.”</p><p>Sylvain attends the meetings as adviser, House Gautier’s second voice and war veteran, but his father still holds the title of Margrave tightly in his hands. There is no rush to pass down the title, but Sylvain would be lying if he said he was comfortable with the idea of his father being unrelenting in exerting his power over the court. Dimitri has promised change and unity for Fodlan, and Felix is at his side every second to see the transformation operating. In the current situation, Sylvain can’t even go to Sreng with the certainty he will come back alive.</p><p>“I can hear you thinking.”</p><p>Felix is looking at him, searching for something on his face. He’s become less afraid of letting a select few see what is hiding behind his eyes when it matters, even if he still shies away from it more often than not. But never with Sylvain—when Felix has decreed that he needs to convey his message through his eyes, he is unyielding. He’s always been like that, iron will carrying him through the most jagged roads. Sylvain marvels at the focused determination he sees in the amber of these eyes.</p><p>“Just work stuff, nothing to be worried about,” he answers with a shrug. “Come on, we’re here to relax!”</p><p>“If you’re so tense about it, then you’re definitely worried. What’s going on?”</p><p>Sylvain falters for a moment, his usually smart remarks stuck in his throat before Felix’s intense gaze. He’s never really been able to refuse him anything when sincerity coats his heartfelt words.</p><p>“I was thinking about the change we’re supposed to bring. We’ve been working our asses off for the past five years, but if the people who have power are the same as before, we’re not going to get anything concrete done.”</p><p>Felix stays silent, then he drops his gaze and sighs. “Your father.”</p><p>“My father.”</p><p>Sylvain shakes his head, feeling a bubble of hysterics surging within his body. He doesn’t like this conversation—complaining about his lack of power while not wanting it beyond the desire to strip his father of his title sounds childish at best and hypocritical at worst. Sylvain’s ambitions don’t align with his house’s traditional values, which makes the battle ahead a long and excruciating one.</p><p>“What do you plan on doing first, when you become Margrave?”</p><p>They have talked about this, in-between discussions about reevaluating the education system and protecting the borders. Felix doesn’t believe they can achieve something truly revolutionary before another good five years because everyone is still too attached to the old traditions, despite Dimitri’s open interest in trying new methods. Sylvain is patient, but some matters cannot wait.</p><p>“I’ll throw the Lance of Ruin into a lake, for starters. No, into the ocean.”</p><p>Felix knows he’s half-serious about this threat. Still, he laughs.</p><p>“It will probably come back in your room because that thing is fucking cursed.”</p><p>“Don’t jinx me like that. I don’t need that stick to start negotiations with Sreng.”</p><p>This is not going the way he wants to.</p><p>Felix stares at him.</p><p>The snow has barely melted, despite the two good hours of sun they got during the day. Sylvain releases Felix’s hand, stepping into a patch of grass off the path, his boots sinking into the snow in a satisfying crunch. He ignores his husband’s low warning as he bends down to scoop up a handful of snow, and chucks it at Felix. Felix’s reflexes are fast and almost instantaneous, side stepping the snowball (which is more like a pile of snow). Sylvain grins while Felix gives him an annoyed look.</p><p>“I thought we established we weren’t kids anymore,” Felix reminds him, a hand on his hip.</p><p>“We don’t need to be kids to enjoy a good snowball fight,” Sylvain retorts. “It’s arguably more fun, with our current skills and all.”</p><p>Sylvain’s grin becomes mischievous.</p><p>“I mean, it’s excellent training for dodging, isn’t it?”</p><p>Felix’s eyebrow twitches, visibly interested but not wanting to give in to Sylvain’s apparently childish activity. Well, too bad for him.</p><p>Sylvain gathers more snow in his hands, quickly shapes it like an actual ball, and tosses it at Felix. Unsurprisingly Felix has no difficulty avoiding such a low exertion throwing, but Sylvain isn’t stopping there. He keeps firing small snowballs and watches with delight as Felix starts muttering curses under his breath before bending down and scooping up snow in turn.</p><p>Sylvain should have seen it coming, but Felix is merciless. The speed at which snowballs are formed and thrown shouldn’t look so effortless, but here he is, Duke Fraldarius, loading his hands with projectiles like he’s trying to win a competition, and smacking his husband in various places with no remorse. Sylvain is starting to think that running might be a good idea, so he rushes farther into the gardens, laughing loudly as he picks up some snow off the branches of trees and bushes as last-ditch protection. If he turns around he’ll lose momentum, but that’s a sacrifice he has to make to at least mark a point against Felix.</p><p>His feet grind against the ground and he twists his body to throw his snowball, and he almost chokes on his spit and on the freezing air when the sound of a sword unsheathed is followed by the slicing of a snowball. The sound echoes loudly in the gardens. Felix looks just as stern as he is when he does his drills, but surrounded by snow, pink flowers and the darkness of the starry night, Sylvain can’t help but chortle.</p><p>“Is it a real sword?” he asks breathily. “Like, a real sword to cut bodies and not the ceremonial sword you’re supposed to carry around to look pretty?”</p><p>“Do you honestly think I’d be carrying a ceremonial sword at a gathering where assassins could sneak in?”</p><p>“Dimitri let you bring your sword?”</p><p>“I don’t need his approval every time I want to do something.”</p><p>And upon closer examination, Sylvain recognizes the intricate sheath and the shape of the blade, slightly curved but robust.</p><p>“Holy shit, you brought your second best sword to the banquet!”</p><p>Even from this distance he sees Felix roll his eyes.</p><p>“Don’t tell me you’re scared of fighting me.”</p><p>“I would hardly call chucking snow at you a fight. And I’m weaponless!”</p><p>“Stop being a baby and come at me with your best snow throwing.” Then, Felix’s lips curl into a lazy smirk. “Consider this training for you as well, since your aim is nothing to write home about.”</p><p>Alright. He has a point. Doesn’t mean he had to say it like that.</p><p>“You’re lucky I love you,” Sylvain grunts.</p><p>Felix’s smile is radiant.</p><p>The next half-hour is best described as a spectacle downright ridiculous given their age and position in society. It would have looked cute and somewhat endearing if they were fifteen years younger, but they are two grown men in their early thirties playing with snow and shrieking with both delight and terror as the snow gets stuck in places they wouldn’t suspect. Sylvain’s hands are freezing and he’s pretty sure there’s melted snow inside his boots and his pants. That does little to diminish the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body and the smile permanently etched onto his face—he moves like he’s high on sugar, uncaring of the consequences of his actions.</p><p>Felix is in a similar state of crazed joy, his enjoyment openly visible on his face as he slices the snowballs with impeccable form and perfect aim, as if slicing any objects in two is a skill he was born with. His imperturbable focus makes him a bit scary, though Sylvain will admit to anyone who is listening that it’s extremely sexy.</p><p>This exercise has no positive effect on Sylvain’s aim, since he managed to hit Felix exactly zero times, and Felix only further proved that being obsessed with his training made him a man capable of cutting anything while remaining unfazed, even when it’s something as absurd as frozen liquid.</p><p>(Cutting snow with a very sharp and fine sword is exceedingly incongruous; it should become a new traditional sport. Because they are in Faerghus, where people love swords and there is snow as far as the eye can see, and because it’s so stupid everyone will love it.)</p><p>They run out of snow to use in the corner of the gardens that hosted their display of immense maturity, which is a sign that they should head back soon, lest someone comes find them and ruin the mood. Sylvain’s clothes are rumpled, his gloves are soaked and his boots are starting to encase his feet in a freezing and unforgiving prison, but he doesn’t mind all that much. He’s still in high spirits, breathing in the cold air like a man who has been deprived of such a luxury for days. Felix barely looks like he’s done anything physical—even his hair managed to stay mostly put. His eyes shine with a carefree glee that makes Sylvain’s heart leap.</p><p>“I think that’s enough exercise for today, I’m completely beat,” he says in a tone that suggests he’s not exhausted at all.</p><p>“You know that if you keep saying things like that, I’m going to drag you with me for morning training,” Felix warns, playful.</p><p>“Goddess, grant me the strength to survive Duke Fraldarius’s inhuman routine…”</p><p>Felix sheaths his sword, ignoring Sylvain’s dramatic whining. He looks to the side, towards the bushes and the flowers that seem that have caught his eye since the beginning of their stroll. Sylvain notices no particular change or detail in the gardens—maybe Felix never takes the time to truly admire how beautiful they are when in Fhirdiad, since he usually ends up cooped up in the castle or strapped to Dimitri’s right for a meeting.</p><p>Like earlier, Felix is distracted by snapdragons. The buds blossom the length of a straight stem, aligned and never sticking out, but they look fiery and resistant to harsh weathers. One would expect the petals to be blown away by strong winds, small as they are, but Sylvain has never seen the gardens devoid of snapdragons in winter.</p><p>“What’s so fascinating about snapdragons?” he asks, genuinely curious. “I admit they’re kind of unique and really pretty to look at.”</p><p>Sylvain crosses the distance to join Felix near the flowerbed, peering at the artful composition of the varieties of flowers. Herbology—when not studying which flowers possess healing qualities and which ones are poisonous—belongs to the realm of hobbies that Sylvain has minimal knowledge for tea time conversation. It’s interesting enough to entertain him and to help him wax poetic about someone’s good looks.</p><p>Felix casts him a sideway glance, but his eyes are still trained on the snapdragons. He crosses his arms over his chest, like he often tends to do nowadays when he’s trying to keep a thought buried deep into his mind.</p><p>“Nothing, they’re just funny looking.”</p><p>“I’d say the witch hazel is more on the funny looking side than snapdragons.”</p><p>Sylvain points to the shrub a bit farther from them, slightly looming over the flowerbed. The untamed branches are sporting flowers with long and narrow yellow petals resembling spikes, reminiscent of a ball of dark magic ready to explode in anyone’s face. Felix takes one look at them, thinks for about two seconds then shrugs.</p><p>“They’re cool,” he says.</p><p>Sylvain bursts out laughing. “Of course you’d say they’re cool, they look like a menace. Oh hey, look at these!”</p><p>Large, round flowers in the shape of stars sit among the lively camelias. The yellow pistils and stamens at the center of the flowers appear more vibrant, placed at the heart of whites, pinks and occasional purples of the petals. They draw a perfect contrast to the straight and more colorful snapdragons.</p><p>“Those are hellebores,” Sylvain says almost fondly. “They’re poisonous though, so you shouldn’t touch them without gloves.”</p><p>“Huh. That’s kind of dangerous to grow in the castle gardens.”</p><p>“They’re in the middle of the flowerbed, unless someone is particularly rude and tries to step into it, they should be fine.”</p><p>Felix doesn’t say anything, which Sylvain takes as an invitation to elaborate on the flowers.</p><p>“They’re poisonous but hellebores are awesome because some people have given them a more positive symbolism, like hope. Or ‘relieving someone’s anxiety and bringing them peace’. I find that really beautiful.”</p><p>In the thick book cataloguing the species that could grow in the harsh winter of Faerghus, Sylvain read about dozens of meanings that made the flowers instantly more fascinating and worth his time. He remembers hellebores being spread all over Gautier since he was little, punctuating the streets of its capital with lovely colors and a cute shape that always made Sylvain think they were trying to survive just like them. Hellebores take their sweet time unravelling what they are made of, blooming only a year or two after being planted---they're not made for immediate results. They're poisonous but are used in stories as an embodiment of hope.</p><p>It's a flower forged in tenacity requiring patience.</p><p>“They actually remind me of you, Felix,” Sylvain blurts out, and he suddenly feels like he’s revealed one of his most guarded secrets.</p><p>Felix trains a sharp eye on Sylvain. His gaze is unflinching, quietly assessing the piece of information that was dropped on him, like that time Sylvain announced he will help him with duties in Fraldarius instead of feeling useless in Gautier with his father still hovering around.</p><p>It’s much more personal and has a lot less room to insert a joke, though.</p><p>“When we were kids I was always waiting for your next visit, or expecting to go to Fraldarius for one reason or another,” he says, fumbling with his words. “The days were a little brighter and it was… I don’t know, having you by my side made life easier.”</p><p>“Relieving your anxiety,” Felix mumbles, repeating the previous statement.</p><p>Sylvain shrugs. “I guess. I didn’t have a talent for romantic declarations or poetry at the time, but the feeling stuck for years.”</p>
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</div><p>Felix huffs, but the way he looks at Sylvain now is not laced with mockery. He looks almost charmed, as if he can’t believe these words came out of Sylvain’s mouth, despite Sylvain’s proficiency at speaking before thinking.</p><p>“If your definition of ‘relieving anxiety’ was me complaining to you about anything, I hope you have higher standards now,” Felix points out.</p><p>Felix reaches for his hand, intertwining their fingers with gentleness he reserves for handling delicate treasures. His hands are scarred and callous, bearing the proof of his relentless training and his prowess in battle, crowning him as a true warrior who slayed everything that stood in his path. They can cut down an opponent in a matter of seconds but are also capable of pressing love into every inch of skin for hours. Sylvain feels each one of the scars and the uneven lines of the palm, as well as the cold-bitten cuts of these hands—and he loves them.</p><p>Sylvain feels a surge of affection overwhelm him. One look at the relaxed and soft expression on Felix’s face is all he needs to grin and kiss Felix’s temple.</p><p>“That’s what I meant,” he says, pulling back to see Felix’s beautiful smile. “You just proved you can brighten my mood with your mere presence and your invaluable words.”</p><p>Felix snorts, though his smile remains wide and dazzling. “I can name at least ten people who will wholly disagree with what you’ve just said about me.”</p><p>“This is because they don’t know about your inner sappy self.”</p><p>“I’m not parading with a goofy smile and spouting overly sweet words at all hours of the day.”</p><p>“So you do admit you’re a sap!”</p><p>“That’s not what I said!”</p><p>Felix’s grip on Sylvain’s hand tightens, like this single motion will suffice to convey his frustration and annoyance and fondness all at once. Sylvain is aware of how lovestruck he is, but he doesn’t care. </p><p>“I’m sure you thought about associating flowers to each one of us,” Sylvain teases.</p><p>To his utter delight, Felix’s cheeks turn slightly pink as he looks away. Sylvain already has an idea of what Felix might have chosen for some of his friends.</p><p>“Snapdragons <i>are</i> cool,” Felix grunts. “Well, their name is. So when I was a kid I thought it was a good idea to think you’re like them.”</p><p>“You thought I was cool?” Sylvain asks, a bit giddy, a bit taken aback.</p><p>The surprise on his face must be more disarming than anticipated because Felix loses some of his happy edges to scowl.</p><p>“Unlike you, I didn’t ingest the whole flower language encyclopedia when I was eight,” Felix justifies himself, defensively.</p><p>“To be more accurate, I started getting interested in the meanings as a teenager but I guess I did have more knowledge than you at that age,” Sylvain replies with the beginning of a smile that will get him kicked in the shins. “Do you know what snapdragons mean now?”</p><p>Sylvain knows that his entire body language hides none of his amusement. He’s still holding Felix’s hand but he’s now peering at him, getting into his space and goading him into admitting the precious information that has been kept from unwanted ears.</p><p>Felix doesn’t answer, of course. He looks pointedly away and refuses to give in, even if he must know that it only urges Sylvain to push harder.</p><p>“People like giving snapdragons as a charm against evil and ward off bad luck,” Sylvain continues lightly. “But I like the other symbols attributed to them better—grace for their unique beauty, and strength for their ability to grow in rocky areas. Do you think I’m graceful and strong?”</p><p>He swings their hands back and forth as though it will prompt a faster reply from Felix, and he basks in the way Felix is suppressing an amused smile.</p><p>“I think you’re hopeless.” Felix snorts, glancing his way.</p><p>The end of Felix’s sentence is left hanging, unspoken words staying lodged in his throat. It abates Sylvain’s enthusiasm a little for this topic as he watches Felix open and close his mouth multiple times, grasping at threads to express what is buried deep within his mind.</p><p>“It’s just—You… damn,” Felix sighs heavily, dragging his other hand on his face in a manner that conveys all his frustration.</p><p>“Hey.” Sylvain squeezes Felix’s hand gently, like it will break if he’s not careful. “I was joking, no need to force yourself to tell me stuff that you probably thought of when you could barely hold a sword.”</p><p>“I could properly hold a sword before you could ride a horse without supervision.”</p><p>Felix’s tone is so petulant, rolling smoothly over words standing as facts for him, that Sylvain can’t help grinning and shaking his head fondly at him.</p><p>But Felix doesn’t stop there. He takes a deep breath, and what tumbles out of his mouth bear all the marks of someone who <i>has</i> nurtured these childhood thoughts.</p><p>“One last meaning for snapdragons is ‘overcoming challenges’, but you most likely know about it. When I was a kid, you were the guy that helped us and seemed to know almost as much as Glenn, if not more. Like… like you were a pillar of stability for us, even if sometimes you were a jerk.” He pauses, licking his lips in what can only be understood as nervousness. “I know better now, but you appeared so strong and so sure of yourself that I used to think you were invincible.”</p><p>Felix withdraws his hand, completely ignoring the fact that he rendered Sylvain speechless in favor of placing both hands on Sylvain’s cheeks. His piercing eyes are brimming with the raw honesty only he is capable of, making anyone looking at them feel small.</p><p>“You’re not invincible. You used to run away from problems you didn’t like, or pretended they didn’t exist. You’ve now learned to face them and take them down before they can engulf you like they did in the past, and for that I’m proud of you.”</p><p>And, as if he was afraid of running out of time or that his words would fail him, Felix barrels on, stroking the skin under Sylvain’s eyes with his thumbs at a gentle pace matching none of the intensity of his voice.</p><p>“So yes, you’re strong, Sylvain. You don’t need to be strong all the time, because I’m here to make sure you get up when you’ve fallen down.”</p>
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</div><p>Once, a long time ago, Sylvain felt he was hanging at the end of the rope. His hands were trying to find purchase on a surface that didn’t exist anymore, leaving him dangling and looking at the emptiness under his feet ready to swallow him whole. The easiest solution would have been to let go. A simple decision that would end all suffering and despair, freeing him of the agony of relying on such a thin anchor to survive.</p><p>He never let go. The awaiting darkness has tempted him many times, but the light from above, casting this vast shadow, kept him afloat. It was a dim light the size of a single ray of sunshine but Sylvain clung to it, chasing after the comfort and the warmth it could provide, even for a momentary respite—a laugh, a smile, a silly joke, the thought of having someone waiting for him. Years later, he would recognize these moments of clarity as signs of his stubbornness and inability to die a swift death.</p><p>Felix is still looking at him with eyes made of iron will, unflinching. It has always been easier for Sylvain to read Felix’s eyes and the emotions hidden behind than interpret his words. What he sees is confidence and certainty; it never fails to paint Felix under a soothing light, erasing some of his prickly edges to ease them into smooth, relaxed lines. It makes Sylvain want to say how beautiful Felix is.</p><p>What he says is, “I love you.”</p><p>He expects Felix to snort, to call him an idiot for being unabashed about his feelings, or to withdraw his hands like he’s been burned. Sylvain cannot tear his gaze away from Felix’s, hypnotized as he is by the shift of color and light in these eyes full of love. The piercing glint morphs into something softer, tender and almost eager, and Sylvain lets out a shuddering sigh when Felix smiles at him.</p><p>“I love you so much,” Sylvain repeats, voice thick and low.</p><p>More than his words, more than the dormant emotions in his eyes, Felix’s actions are the real extension of himself. He closes the distance between them and brushes his lips against Sylvain’s, feather-like and devoid of his usual fierceness. He’s kissing Sylvain like it’s the first time, like he’s channeling a lifetime’s worth of buried love. Sylvain clings to the feeling and returns the kiss with more fervor. His kisses are always half-enthusiastic, half-desperate, oscillating between giving too much and receiving too little.</p><p>One of Sylvain’s hands gets tangled in Felix’s hair while the other idly plays with the long, red ribbon tying his hair in a high ponytail—Sylvain never tires of touching and feeling the softness of Felix’s hair, like it is only his to worship. If the kiss started with Felix being in lead, Sylvain is now taking full control of it, though his lips never break free of the tenderness spell they are under. It’s pleasant; it’s invigorating and filling him with a burst of endless dreams.</p><p>When they pull apart, Felix is grinning. His thumbs stroke Sylvain’s cheeks one more time, then he lets them rest on his shoulders, patting him.</p><p>“You’re really a handful, you know,” he says without heat.</p><p>“If I knew that talking about flowers would get you to smile so much and to reveal all your secret feelings about me, I’d have done it sooner.”</p><p>“Don’t push your luck.”</p><p>Sylvain pecks Felix on the lips one last time with an obnoxious smack, just to hear Felix snort. Sylvain’s own smile feels too big on his face as he grasps the red ribbon in his fingers.</p><p>“You’ve always been here for me, and I for you. Well, mostly. That’s already a huge chunk of time spent together.”</p><p>“And if we have our way, we’ll die together.”</p><p>“We’ve been stuck together since we were kids, and being married means that’s not going to change! We have long years waiting for us.”</p><p>“We really do.”</p><p>The light in Felix’s eyes is what keeps Sylvain’s heart burning and pulsating, beating through nightmares he endeavors to put past him.</p><p>The walk back to the banquet room is almost entirely silent, as they revel in the warmth of each other and surround themselves with a coat of happiness they aren’t ashamed of showing off. The colors of the gardens take a new, brighter shade—everything from the innocent leaves to the joyful flowers look far more alive and beautiful, as though they absorbed Sylvain and Felix’s bliss to shine vividly.</p><p>Sylvain’s hand slips into Felix’s once more.</p><p>“It’s still so damn cold,” he complains.</p><p>Felix squeezes. “That’s what you get for playing with snow.”</p><p>“You were enjoying yourself!”</p><p>“I didn’t say I wasn’t.”</p><p>“Who’s the handful one now?”</p><p>They leave footprints and traces of a furious battle in the snow-covered grass, but it’s their laughter and unbridled love that make the flowers bloom.</p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading, kudos and comments always appreciated &lt;3</p><p>You can retweet the <a href="https://twitter.com/kornetable/status/1339586098905825283?s=19">fic here</a>, and Nyan's <a href="https://twitter.com/nyarrancia/status/1339586150051147776?s=19">art here</a>. Happy holidays!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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